


Hobden o' the Blood

by fawatson



Category: Puck of Pook's Hill Series - Rudyard Kipling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 02:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15809190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: Puck and Hobden collaborate.





	Hobden o' the Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thimblerig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/gifts).



> **Request:** Hobden seemed to see further through a millstone than most, and it would be interesting to get a look at his POV throughout some of the kids' experiences, or his own dabbling with Old Things.... Alternatively, I would be very happy with an original flavour story where the kids meet an interesting historical character. 
> 
> **Author's Notes:** The Battle of Trafalgar was fought on 21/10/1805. The _Thunderer_ was one of the ships of the line which took part. It was commanded by First Lieutenant John Stockham as acting captain because the ship's captain had been called to London as witness at a Court Martial. Nelson's plan of battle was for two columns of ships to sail direct (at right angles) at the French line of battle creating havoc to the middle (where the leaders sailed) and splitting the line in two or three parts. It was a radical plan, for the usual tactics of the period would have seen the two fleets draw up parallel to one another and batter away with their guns until one side surrendered. Nelson's fleet was, however, smaller than the combined French and Spanish fleet, so he changed tactics. While dying Nelson ordered that the admiral's lights on his flagship (Victory) should remain lit until the battle was over, lest the fleet lose heart on learning about his death before the battle was decided. Nelson's body was preserved in a barrel of brandy for the voyage home. Following the battle Admiral Collingwood - also a very well-respected naval commander of the period - assumed command. The fleet was caught in a great storm that blew in later in the day, during which it cut the tow-ropes to most of its prizes without which ships would have foundered. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.

The children never noticed old Hobden as they slipped down the footpaths or along the lanes, but _he_ noticed _them_. And now, on this fine morn, the 21st of October, he knew who they were heading off to meet. Dan and Una might not know, but he did. He followed. Cannily he followed, slipping quiet and cat-like with nary a rustle of leaves. 

Unlike them. Dan and Una ran laughing and calling to one another, Una, as was often the case, was in the lead until she stumbled over a tree root and fell flat on her face. Dan dusted her off and they proceeded a little more circumspectly down to the millpond. There, they were careful. The children had been taught to respect water. There was a cobbled path that stretched from the mill itself partway round the pool to a small landing opposite, to which was tied a little rowboat. He leaned against a gnarled old oak and watched as they climbed in and cast off, Dan ably handling the oars to manoeuvre the boat out to the middle of the water where they dropped anchor and put out rod and line. 

Hobden thought it unlikely they would catch anything. Dan knew how to be still when he had to be. But Una’s bouncing would scare off the trout. No doubt they would catch a fair mess of weeds off the bottom (the mill pond was shallow, even in the middle). And a fair few insect bites. But there were more important things today than catching one’s dinner. He sat at the foot of the tree, fished out his pipe, pouch and knife from his shirt pockets, scraped the bowl clean, and repacked it with baccy (grown in his own cottage garden and dried in tool shed) before lighting. 

“Well-a-day, old man – reliving past times?” 

“Hrrp,” Hobden rumbled, squinting upwards at the little green-clad figure perched in the crook where tree and main branch met above him. “Nature-ally...” He paused as he sucked in a deep breath from his pipe and blew out a perfect ring. “I mind when _I_ rowed that boat out ‘n back agin.” 

“Old man, you should remember nothing,” Puck warned. 

“Dunno, as I says I was _beliefting_ any o’ it,” Hobden allowed. “But no Pharisee can whisk away the knowing of one’s own kith and kin. Faun: youm may be old…” He sucked in again, another long draw of the pipe, before continuing, “but blood is older.” 

Puck laughed merrily, “Fair enough. Blow then, Hobden o’ the Blood – blow hard enough to blow up veritable _Thunder_.” 

He leapt down off his branch, landing lightly beside Hobden who blew another perfect ring, which, this time, wafted across the water, gathering smoke as Puck blew, until it formed a large cloud that spread across both shore and water surrounding the little boat bobbing in the centre of the pond, and the path where Hobden rested. 

Presently Hobden remarked, in between puffs, “Tis wondrous how that little boat rocks so wild on a glassy still mill-pond.” 

* * * * * 

“It were calm,” Tom explained to Dan and Una, “much like this here millpond, for all it was the Atlantic, ’n off Portugal which is allus counted on to be choppy. Not that that calm lasted.” He stamped his feet hard, rocking the little rowboat. “You never knowed a ship to rock so hard, and shiver and shake, as it does when hit by cannonball.” He stamped again and Una slid off her plank seat into the bottom of the boat and squeaked with nerves.

“No sitting in midst battle, young miss,” Tom said. “Up! Up! Ye can learn as I did to balance by rolling with the rocking. He pulled Una up beside him, steadying her with one hand at her elbow as he demonstrated.

“’Tis how we all did it – from the great Nelson himself down to the smallest powder-boy.”

“Did you _know_ Nelson?” asked Dan eagerly, “were you in _his_ boat?” 

“Ship,” Tom corrected, before he laughed. “Only as much as the next able seaman. Nelson was a great man. All the fleet knew him as such, and not one to stand on dignity. The kind to set to and haul out a gun hisself if it was needed, or show the lowliest seaman how to climb the rigging. He knew it all inside out, having started as a seaman. But I did not know him to speak to. I served in _Thunderer_ which was assigned to his fleet; but it was just one of 27 great ships at that battle.” 

“Great ships?” asked Dan. 

“The big ‘uns – ships o’ tha line. There’s _other_ ships in any fleet: frigates and cutters and brigs an’ the like. But it’s the big ‘uns what battled it out ‘gainst the Frenchies; ‘n the little ‘uns darted round doing clear up arterwards – ferrying prisoners and prize crews ‘n such.”

“But Nelson led you!” Dan exclaimed. 

“Weeell, ‘twas Collingwood _my_ ship followed in.”

At Dan’s look of deep disappointment Tom chuckled. “Twas Nelson’s _plan_ : two columns of ships parallel to one another going straight down the middle of the Frenchies. But Collingwood’s ship was faster so it got there first, and we close-followed _him_ so _Thunderer_ was not far behind.”

“And the French shot at you?” 

“ _We_ shot at _them_ ” Tom jabbed his thumb to his chest, “and we were the better shots.”

“Was it very scary?” Una wanted to know.

“Before-hand, when you’re waiting on the gun deck, getting glimpses o’ the enemy ships comin’ closer, yes: only a fool doesn’t feel any nerves. But once the firing starts, you get caught up in the excitement and noise and the pattern of loading and firing and swabbing out the bore and doing it all again and again.” 

He gestured with his hands and the ghost of a 32-pounder appeared at the bow. 

“Like this….”

* * * * * 

“Never fear,” Puck assured, “Una and Dan are in good company – the best seamen that ever lived will keep them safe.” 

“Ever died, more-like,” Hobden drawled. “The best of ‘em all was lost that day.” 

“Your kinsman survived – Tom Hobden o’ the _Thunderer_. Somewhat battered, to be sure, lacking a hand and eye, like the great man himself; but alive and able to return home with many a tall tale of his seafaring days.” 

“Aye, but _he_ did not, save in a pickle barrel. Them Frenchies did for him. I mind on it….” 

Hobden’s eyes stared straight ahead, unseeing, caught up, as he was, in the visions Puck was creating. 

“No Admiral’s light. Lieutenant Stockham – it canna _be_. We’ve won. The Frogs have surrendered. Nary even one ship o’ ourn bin lost. Say we have not lost Admiral Nelson.” Tears streamed down Hobden’s cheek as the ghost of his great-great grandfather spoke through him. 

Puck’s lips twisted in a crooked smile and his eyes glinted mischievously at Hobden as he listened. 

* * * * * 

“Course we knew we was in good hands with Collingwood,” Tom explained as the children listened avidly. “No better sailor than _him_ not even Nelson hisself. An’ we needed his clear thinking in the storm that blew in after the battle.”

“I was caught out in a storm last summer,” offered Una, “walking back from church. I got thoroughly wet and cold.”

“But ye had a home to go in from the wet, and get changed into warm dry clothes, I’m betting, didn’t you, little miss.” 

Una nodded solemnly. 

“Try climbing the rigging in a gale, and furling sheets all slippery with rain, hands cold and lines cutting into your palms.”

Una’s and Dan’s eyes were wide as Tom’s hands outlined smoke- ghosts of masts and sails with tiny men scurrying along the booms. As they watched, their heads tipped back to see, one tiny figure fell.

* * * * * 

“Ware that wind….” Hobden groaned.

Puck chuckled as he gestured. 

“Furl that sail!" Hobden’s voice held sharp command. “I say FURL THE SAIL!”

Puck’s grin widened and he snapped the fingers of his left hand. 

“We’ll founder Sir if’n we don’t break the rope…. BREAK THE ROPE!”

* * * * * 

From across the water, Puck could hear Dan and Una’s voices crying out as their boat rocked with a sudden wave. Una, who was standing, now dropped into a crouch and covered her head with her arms to protect herself. No doubt _they_ were well occupied. 

He turned his attention back to Hobden when the old man let out a loud groan. “That’s the topsail torn again, and us with no more canvas to patch, still less replace. It’ll be a slow sail back to Merry Old England, and none too merry it will be too.” 

It seemed _Thunderer_ had come through the storm once more and her crew was putting her to rights again, now as it had been done one hundred years before. Puck puffed on his own pipe a few more times before putting it away. The smoky cloud lingered a few minutes more. By the time it dissipated he was gone, and the rowboat had come to rest by a shore shaded by oak and ash. 

Unsteadily the children climbed out from their trusty vessel, still feeling slightly seasick. The ground was slightly slippery with fallen leaves, damp from the previous night’s rain. Una cried out as she clutched a shrub too hastily to steady herself, without really looking, and got a thorn in her thumb. 

“It’s only the very tip that’s gone in,” Dan comforted as he plucked it from her. “And small price to pay for the fine trout we caught.” He fastened the creel carefully and slung it round his neck before picking up his rod and Una’s line and setting off back to the house. Neither child noticed Hobden snoring under the tree as they turned from the pond into the woodland path. Their steps were slower now, tired as they were from a full afternoon playing. 

“Did you have a good time fishing?” asked their father, coming out of his study as they entered the house. 

“Splendid,” said Dan. “We caught three fish for tonight’s supper.” 

“Well, give them to Cook and get changed into your Sunday best and be quick about it.” 

“Sunday clothes,” said Una, puzzled, “but it’s only Saturday.” 

“I know,” explained Father, “but there’s a commemorative service at the church for the Battle of Trafalgar and we need to be going soon if we’re not to be late.”


End file.
